LightsCameraHeartbreak!
by This-Ain't-A-Love-Song
Summary: Roxy: outgoing, flirty, and confident! Salley: everything Roxy's not! So, how do they manage to stay best friends? Especially after Roxy sleeps wi... Whoops! I've said too much... CHAP 4 POSTED!
1. Chapter 1

This is just an idea I had, and I was wondering if anyone thought it was worth continuing. So lemme know what you think :)

Disclaimer: Sarah Dessen, my favourite author, has always inspired me, but this is neither a continuation of one of her books nor based on her work.

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**_Lights. Camera. Heartbreak!_**

**June**

_Salley's POV_

Chapter 1

I could feel eyes on me as I pushed the blue shopping cart into the newest store Roxy had taken an interest in. Maybe it was because shopping carts were for the produce aisle, and not the mall. Or maybe it was because my best friend was singing loudly in a public place, not caring who did or did not hear her rendition of "Shout."

That's Roxy, and she's my best friend. She and I hadn't known each other since we were in diapers, and that's partly why we were so good for each other. Everyone else at school was with the same friends from kindergarten, and their circles were so tight that no one else could enter without an access code and passkey. Roxy had jumped from circle to circle, being the fifth wheel each time. I had taken the other route, and my mom became my best friend. So finally at the start of middle school, we just clicked. We had never spoken before, so neither of us knew what to expect. Finally, after weeks of the exact same classes, our legacy of sisterhood began.

"Ooooh, Salley, look at this one!" she called. As I turned the corner to face her, I saw her holding a black string bikini.

"Skank," I said between coughs. To this, she promptly gave me a look, and I promptly gave her one back. I tried to glare, but I burst into giggles. We were, obviously, shopping for bathing suits, much to my disapproval. I don't like going into fitting rooms and seeing myself in a tiny piece of cloth: the exact opposite of Roxy. There wasn't much that she wouldn't wear. I, on the other hand, had a bumper sticker that said "Modest is Hottest."

"What about that one? It's cute," I suggested, pointing to a thicker two-piece with pink flowers against a white background. We both knew it wasn't her style, however, and she did not hesitate to mumble something I didn't catch. Before I knew it, she was in the fitting room, leaving me with the cart and only one thing to fill it: a blue, two-piece with a halter that covered my stomach and a skirt to match. It was decorated with yellow Hawaiian hibiscuses. I liked it, and I know what size I am. Who needs a fitting room?

I heard a _swoosh_ behind me, and I turned around to see Roxy emerge from the curtain. She had on a brown bikini that had bows on the sides of the bottom piece. I had to admit it looked cute with the white beads on the bows. She smiled unsurely, as if to ask my opinion.

"It's cute; you should totally get it!" I told her. And with that, she grinned victoriously and disappeared back into the dressing room.

After about two hours of my "How do I look?" and Roxy's "Do you like it?" we both decided on bathing suits, sarongs, and sunglasses. Now, we were ready for anything. Well, not really. But we _were _ready for the beach.

I had turned sixteen this past winter in February, and our parents had finally agreed to let us drive down to the beach and stay alone in a "trustworthy" hotel. Roxy was still fifteen, turning sixteen in September, so I did the driving.

She was almost a year younger than me, but she was light-years ahead of me in the life-experience category. Roxy learned everything about the world – the stuff you were supposed to learn at my age now – when she was about eight: sex, drugs, and rock-and roll. She has slowly and almost completely broken away from being what my mother would politely call "loose." Now it's simmered down to "boy-crazy." So while Roxy went out and sampled the male population, I was still waiting for my first kiss. My mother always taught me to be a "nice girl," so I got a reputation as a goody-two-shoes. Roxy, however, did not. This has always made me really protective of her for some reason because I know eventually she won't be the heartbreaker, and for once she'll get _her_ heart broken. It's not like she needs to be on birth control or anything, but everyone has a past, and she hates herself for it.

I always try to help her when she struggles with where to draw the line, and I selfishly think she's changed a lot because of me. I think being attached at the hip with a "good girl" helped her slink out of her old habits, too. People tell me that there's something different about her, but they can't quite put their finger on it, and it feels good knowing I helped. It feels even better knowing I can help her with something and not the other way around for once.

Because Roxy's one of those girls that doesn't cry. She just _doesn't_. And if she does, she sure doesn't tell anybody. This comes in handy considering how many times I've cried on her shoulder in the bathroom at school. She's always there, ready to take care of me, no matter who or what has hurt me. A lot of people say she's like my mom, and, well, they're right. I can always count on her for serious advice on things that really matter or a belittling comment about a situation where I'm especially spineless. But we keep each other going, and I guess that's all that really matters in the end. She takes care of me, and I don't think my life would be right without her.

**July**

Chapter 2

"Salley! Hey, it's me. I'm just calling to say 'hey,' which I did already. And I miss you. Uhm, not sure what to say, so just… be safe, and have fun. I love you," said the voice of Dylan Matthews.

Dylan to me is what some girls call their "first real boyfriend." Sure, I had crushes in elementary school and a secret admirer in eighth grade, but this time it was serious. He was what I had always dreamed a boyfriend would be: cute, funny, sweet, easy-going, and smart enough to carry on a decent conversation. The fact that he had abs didn't hurt, either. I don't know how he has muscle, though, since he doesn't do sports. Actually, Roxy met him before I did because she met him at callbacks for our annual school play.

This past year, it happened to be _Pride and Prejudice_, one of Roxy's absolute favorites. I've always envied her skills as an actress, and evidently our drama teacher saw those skills since he cast her as his leading lady, Elizabeth Bennet. Dylan didn't have the experience, but he had talent, so he was given the part of Fitzwilliam Darcy, another main character in the show. So after weeks of rehearsal, they became close friends, simply because they spent so much time together. It wasn't until they started dress rehearsals that she introduced us, and you'll have to excuse me for using the oldest cliché in the book, but it truly was _love at first sight_. Now, normally I didn't believe in that sort of thing, but there was some unknown chemistry that Dylan and I had from day one. He made me feel so special. He had play practice almost everyday after school with at least six beautiful girls, including my best friend. But he noticed me and officially asked me out on March 13 at 4:37 PM. That was March, and this is June; I guess some high-school relationships do last longer than two weeks.

"You make me sick," Roxy said after listening to the message and clicking the answering machine off. Dylan always told me he loved me when I called, which was almost everyday. Roxy called us Mr. and Mrs. Commitment. It was hard for her to understand why anyone would go to so much trouble to keep in touch with someone that they were just going to break up with anyway. The truth is, I think commitment scares her, but she denies it, interested only in relationships that last a few hours - give or take - depending on how good of a kisser he was and how far she wanted to go.

"Well, I think it's sweet that we talk everyday. I hardly get to see him on vacations," I tried to explain. She scoffed loudly.

"He's clingy," she said.

"He's _dedicated_," I fought back. I loved Dylan, and even my tough-as-nails best friend can't change that.

About a half-hour later we walked down to the beach with cooler, towels, and iPod speakers in hand. As Roxy set up a beach playlist for us to listen to, I laid out two towels on the sand and opened the cooler. I took out a Coke and half a classic peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, and Roxy dug through the cooler until she found her lone Sprite bottle and a cereal bar (which she found out tasted like wax so she stole the other half of my sandwich).

The beach was crowded today, as I saw couples jogging, kids flying kites, and some our age hanging out on the shore and playing in the surf. I noticed some guys staring in our direction, and I found out why when I turned around: the infamous publicly-lathering-yourself-with-sunscreen-trick. Thank you, Roxy.

"Hey, you're giving a free show to about seven guys on our left," I told her. She shrugged and kept it up with her Coppertone. I would have pressed on the issue of modesty, but she was done within seconds so I decided to keep my mouth shut.

Just then, I heard some boppy song with a la-la-la chorus float from my towel, and I reached for my cell phone, cursing my pre-programmed ringtone.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Hey!" said a voice on the other line.

"Oh, hey, Dylan! What's up?" As I said this, Roxy rolled her eyes and walked down to the water.

"Obviously not as much as what's up with you: I can't ever get hold of you, only the answering machine. What are you so busy with?"

"Well, me and Roxy are-" he cut me off.

"Roxy's there?" he asked.

"Yeah, didn't I tell you we were going to the beach-house?"

"Seems like I remember you telling me something or other to that effect…" I could see Roxy floating on her back in the sparkling water in front of me, and suddenly I didn't want to be on the phone with Dylan for our usual two hours. I was here to swim and get a tan.

"So did you need something?" I asked, trying not to sound insanely obvious.

"Kinda. I was just calling to say that I'm going to Vegas with my folks, and I'm not sure I'll have a signal on my cell. I'll be back home late July."

"That sounds fun! Roxy and I will be back sometime in August, so I might just have to wait till school to see you again."

"I hope not; we'll see. Hey, mom's beeping the horn: I gotta go. I love you," he said.

"And I love you, too." With that, I hung up and ran to the ocean, splashing myself and Roxy to a point of maximum-soak.

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**Review Please! I'd love to know what you thought! **


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Sarah Dessen, my favourite author, has always inspired me, but this is neither based on any of her stories or a continuation of her work._

**(Still Salley's POV, Still July)**

Chapter 3

The next day we drove the shiny, red golf-cart to the shared, beach-community pool and jumped in, washing away sand and anything else the sea splashed on us from our walk on the windy beach. By the time we were ready to go home, it was almost dark. The two of us wrapped ourselves in towels, and I drove us home.

When we got back, we had four messages on the machine. I pressed play, and we both sat down in the two white wicker chairs on either side of the phone.

"Four new messages," spat out the robotic voice.

"First new message: 'Hey, Baby, I'm just checking in with you guys. Hope y'all are having fun and staying safe! I love you.' That one was my mom: my perfect, suburban mom, complete with dinner parties and PTA meetings.

"Second new message: 'Hello. Would you like to receive fifty percent off of your car insurance? Give us a call at 1 (800) 754-2990.' I hate telemarketers…

"Third new message: 'Thank you, Miss Johnson, for your input on our restaurant survey. Tell your waiter about your contribution next time you visit, and we'll give you ten dollars off your next meal.'

"Fourth new message: 'Hello, Roxy, this is your mother speaking. I just got fired today, and I was wondering if you could come home early. Maybe we could-' " And before I knew what Roxy's mom was going to suggest, Roxy pressed 'Delete' without hesitation.

"She's supposed to be at the doctor's office," Roxy said through gritted teeth. Roxy kept track of every detail in her mother's life: doctor and dentist appointments, job interviews, bills, medication, dry-cleaning, laundry, and cooking. You see, Roxy's father, Michael, left when Roxy's mother, Lori, was eight months pregnant. When Michael left, he crushed Lori's world, and she was on more medication than all the celebrities in Hollywood. Lori didn't have a job, and she didn't get one, either, until Roxy wrote her a resume and took her to several interviews. Basically, Lori and her daughter switched roles, leaving Roxy with no time to grieve over never knowing her other parent. All of this made Roxy grow up way too fast, her mother not noticing or just not caring. Finally, Roxy put her foot down when her mother suggested Roxy get a job instead so that Lori could 'relax' and 'be peaceful' and 'move on.' Eventually, Roxy pulled some strings with a parent whose kid went to our school, and Lori began work at the local donut shop. Apparently, baked goods were not Lori's thing.

"I bet she doesn't even know what day it is…" Roxy said under her breath, as she stormed angrily up the stairs and shut the door to our room. It kinda scared me when I saw Roxy display any kind of emotion; usually it was anger. But I knew what to do: just stay clear for about ten minutes, and she'll come out as if she hadn't a care in the world. She'd probably offer to cook, too, to keep herself busy. So the night wore on, and Roxy reacted exactly as I planned she would. We both went to bed early since nothing was on TV, and slowly we drifted into Dreamland.

Roxy met two guys today while I was at the basketball court practicing lay-ups and hook shots. When I came back, one was 'helping' her put on tanning lotion, and the other was grabbing a Coke from our cooler.

"Salley, this is Chad, and this is Peter," she said when I walked over to our seats. Chad and Peter waved and smiled.

"Chad's a surfer, and he's here from Hawaii," Chad nodded proudly, finishing Roxy's shoulders and handing back the lotion.

"And I'm Peter. I'm not a surfer like my brother here, but I get away with it because I'm cute." He grinned, and I saw how cute he actually was in his own little dorky way. His hair was dark brown and very curly, and he had precious blue eyes. Wait, I had a boyfriend.

Before I knew it, Chad and Roxy were in the shallow end of the pool dunking and splashing each other flirtatiously. Thank you, Roxy, for leaving me by myself with a cute guy and no idea what to say. And as if cued in by my thought, I felt a wave of warm water spray my face, courtesy of Roxy.

"Jump in! The water's perfect," she said happily, getting out and diving in again. I looked at Peter.

"I'm game," I offered, "if you are."

He grinned and held his arm out for me. "Always, my lady," he said in a cute but awful British accent. All of a sudden, I felt surrounded by wet warmth. I breached the surface and looked around: no Peter, no Chad. And where was Roxy? I tread water as I turned 360 degrees, but saw no one. Then out of nowhere, I felt a strong tug on my foot that pulled me beneath the surface. When I bobbed back up, I heard the laughter of my best friend and two certain cute brothers.

"You guys are so mean!" I said jokingly. Finally, Chad and Peter left when it started to get dark, somewhere around 7:00 PM.

And that was it. I didn't anticipate us seeing them ever again, but that's what it was all about with Roxy: no awkward encounters, no sticky breakups. To her, it was all about the moment. She's all about the 'here' and 'now.' The future can wait; after all, it's never going to get here. And if that's the case, we have to focus on every individual moment, every breath, and every heartbeat.

I never could understand how Roxy had the nerve to start a conversation with two totally unknown, cute guys. You would think she'd be intimidated, but no, not Roxy. She could do anything once she made her decision about it, everyone else be damned. Or at least that's what I've always believed. I never underestimated her, that's for sure.

Chapter 4

When I woke up around ten, I decided to call Dylan. First, I called his house to see if they'd left yet. I dialed his unforgettable seven digits.

"Hello?" said a woman's voice from the other line.

"Hi, Mrs. Matthews. I guess you haven't gone anywhere yet, huh?" At first she didn't answer, and when she did she sounded unsure,

"Uhm… no. We haven't left."

"Good! Can I speak with Dylan, please?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dear, but he won't be back for a while, didn't he tell you?" she asked.

"Yeah, he did, but I thought he said you were going, too." I'm so confused.

"Nope, me and his father are staying home this time," she explained.

"Oh, well I guess I just got our signals crossed and misunderstood. I'm sorry for taking your time."

"No trouble at all, really. Good-bye, Dear!" Hmmm, I could have sworn he said… oh, never mind.

I walked over to the desk where mine and Roxy's laptops sat and pressed my orange power button. While it was still starting up, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Hey," Roxy said as she walked into the room.

"Hey! What do you wanna do today?" I waited for her answer as I logged onto my account.

"I kinda feel like just driving around and chatting and stuff. Maybe bring the iPod." That sounded good to me.

"Good idea! I'll be there in a second; you can go ahead and start the golf-cart if you want. I'm just gonna check my e-mail." Roxy nodded and went out the back door with the little green key to the golf-cart.

"Hey, what took so long?" Roxy asked when I finally came out to meet her in the driveway, eyeing the tennis rackets I was holding.

"I just hadn't checked my mail in a long time, so I had a lot in my Inbox." She scooted over and handed me the keys. I started it up and backed out of the garage very smoothly, thank you very much. I pulled onto the street, and Roxy turned on her iPod speakers and started to play something I didn't recognize by the Killers. After driving through our subdivision, I turned onto the road to another.

"Hey, that looks like D…" Roxy started, but her voice trailed off.

I was paying close attention to the road, but I looked up long enough to see the silhouette of a guy in front of us. He was pretty far away, though, so I couldn't tell who she thought it could be.

"Who?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing! I'm just seeing things," she giggled. I ignored her randomness and pulled into the beach tennis club, and I stuck the keys in the pocket of my jacket. We walked to an empty court, and I handed Roxy her racket and a ball.

"You can serve first," I explained. To this, she grumbled. We both knew the dangers of her and anything that requires athletic ability. But I had immense fun watching her swing her racket into the air three feet away from the ball. She was so bad.

After torturing her with a sport, we strolled into the general store for a drink and some sugar. I walked up to the counter with my Pepsi and Skittles, and I handed three dollars to the cashier. Roxy came up behind me with a bottle of water and Raisinets. We took our snack outside and sat on the edge of the pool, legs dangling. The sun was beginning to set, early as usual; it was only 6:40-something.

I drove us home and changed into my pink pajamas as soon as I set foot in our room. I was exhausted, and I didn't think it would ruin my life if I went to bed early once again.

Chapter 5

I didn't want to go to the party, but Roxy finally convinced me 'it would be fun.' The two guys she met at the pool, Chad and Peter, invited us to a cookout they were having. So I put on a cute, yellow sundress that screamed "Wear me to a Beach Party!"

Apparently, I was wrong. When we got to their condo, everyone was dressed like Roxy: jeans, low-cut tanks, heels, and big jewelry. I knew as soon as I walked over the threshold that his was not the family cookout from Suburbia I had imagined. The whole house was dark, only lit by people's cigarettes. Even if all the lights were on, you couldn't see because of the smoke. There was a beer keg by the wall that seemed the centerpiece of the party, plastic, red cups half-full strewn on the floor and tables. A group of guys was playing Quarters on the back deck, curses and laughter filling the house.

"Don't leave me!" I cried, surprised at my fear. Roxy was obviously embarrassed a girl in a frilly, yellow dress was clinging to her arm, and she smiled through gritted teeth as she shoved my arms away.

"Hey, guys, you want some beer?" a drunk Chad asked from behind, snaking his arms around Roxy's waist. She looked uncomfortable but made no effort to push him away.

Before I knew it, Roxy was gone, and I was left to sit on the couch alone. It was itchy against my calves, and it smelled like sweat and alcohol. I could hear a radio playing loudly from somewhere, and I tried to make out the lyrics. But my thought process was disturbed when I heard an unforgettable, high-pitched squeak that was Roxy's laugh. Looking around, I saw a couple making out on the stairs and people talking loudly over the buzz of the party, but no Roxy. Then I found her: she was sitting on Chad's lap with a quarter, ready to test her soberness. And right then I prayed for her bold personality so I could pull us away from this place.

I wondered where Peter was, the seemingly mature, older brother. And as a sign from God himself, I suddenly spotted him leaning against the stairwell. I may not be the most out-going person alive, but I saw my goal and made a bee-line for Peter.

"Peter!" his brown hair swished to the side as he turned to see my desperate face.

"Peter, _please _tell me this party is not your style, and _please _tell me you can help me get Roxy home!" He grabbed my hand and led me out to the front lawn before answering.

My conscience told me from the second I walked in I needed to get out as soon as possible. And dammit, I wasn't going to let my best friend float back into this kinda scene.

"I'll drive you home, Salley, don't worry. Then we can come back and get Roxy, okay?" he spoke so gently, as if one wrong word could break me into pieces.

_**Roxy's POV**_

Even with seven Budweiser's in my system, I could think clearly long enough to see Salley was gone. Last time I saw her, she was perfectly safe and unaccompanied on the couch.

Couches are nice. Safe. Cozy. Warm. Sittable. Sit on them. Soft.

Wow, I was drunk… Maybe I shouldn't have left her by herself; she was new to the un-chaperoned parties that didn't involve hors d'oeuvres and social mingling. But she was a big girl, she could handle herself. Nevertheless, I didn't want her "going to see something upstairs" because I wasn't quite sure she knew what that meant.

"Baby, are you still playing?" Chad asked, snapping me back to the Real World.

"Oh, yeah, but play this turn for me. I have to use the Little Girls' Room." So I got up from the table and walked down the hallway and up the stairs, tripping only twice, thank you very much. I was a little wobbly going down the hall looking for Salley. Instead, I was greeted with a pleasant but shocking surprise.

"Hey!" said the voice of Dylan Matthews from one of the empty bedrooms.

"Omigosh, hey!" I said as I collapsed down beside him on the king-sized bed with a tacky, blue down comforter.

"Does," I started, but was interrupted with a hiccup. "Has Salley seen," I tried but hiccupped again.

I got distracted from the thought when Dylan said, "You look extremely tempting in this lighting."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Darcy," I said, coining character names from our school play, _Pride and Prejudice_. "You don't look so bad yourself," I smiled, and he put a gentle hand on my cheek. His palm was cool, and the tingling feeling caused warning alarms to go off in my head.

"You know," he started slowly, sweetly. "I think Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth are better for each other than Mr. Darcy and Jane."

In my drunken moment, I didn't comprehend his metaphor, so I let myself go, caught in a moment.

Waking up in an unknown and strange bedroom was a feeling all too familiar to me. Bits and pieces of a faded memory came into my mind slowly: the party last night, what happened? I remember looking for Salley upstairs and not finding her.

Then, all at once, a million realizations hit me fast and hard. This bedroom is mine, I'm at the beach house, Salley and I went to a party last night, and Dylan was there…

Dylan! The memory once faded was now too vivid for pleasure: the warmth of his breath on my chest, his cool fingertips on my hips, the way his hand hit a pulse point at the nape of my neck... and how much of a fucking _slut _I truly was.

I had slept with my best friend's boyfriend.

The same best friend that had probably driven me home and held my hair out of my face while I purged those seven beers. The same best friend that was loyal to me since Day One in English class in the sixth grade. The very same best friend that had never ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever given herself over to a guy and especially not my boyfriend! Suddenly I heard flip-flops going _thwap, thwap _down the stairs.

"Hey," said Salley coming through the door and sitting beside me on the bed. She sounded calm, not mad in the least. "Peter told me that Chad slipped you a little too much to drink. Hangover much?"

Come to think of it, I felt awful. My mouth was dry, and I felt hot and sticky. And to top it all off, I had a migraine that was just lovely.

"I have some chamomile tea brewing for you. I'll go see if it's done yet," she said, leaving for the kitchen.

It hurt me so bad that she was being so sweet. I'd almost rather have her super pissed off. She had no clue about anything that happened at that party. As far as she knew, Dylan was in Nevada, he was a virgin, and Chad forced that alcohol down my throat.

"Here we go!" she handed me a white cup and saucer filled to the brim with a steamy liquid that was always comforting to me.

"Hello?" said the voice on the other line.

"Hey, Dylan. How do you feel?" I asked.

"Like crap."

"Me, too. So… I was just wondering what you were doing down here. Aren't you supposed to be in Vegas with the family?"

"I only told Salley that because I didn't want her to flip out and cling to me 24/7 if she knew I was here," he explained.

Whoa, that caught me off guard.

"Oh, okay…" the awkward silence was killing me.

"Do you remember what… what happened?" he asked, finally breaking the dreadful lapse of words.

"Yeah."

"Well, don't be too hard on yourself. I think Mr. Budweiser played a pretty big part in this one." And even though I knew he was right, his earlier statement brought me to a confusing crossroads: _I think Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth are better for each other than Mr. Darcy and Jane._

"We both know this isn't going to get any easier, and it's no use being awkward about it," I told him, getting straight to the point. "The main thing is that Salley doesn't need to find out, and we shouldn't let this become an obvious struggle to keep down."

"Agreed," he said.

"Cool."

But it really wasn't cool, it was dreadful.

"So I'll talk to ya later, okay?" he said.

"Yeah, later…"

And with that, we hung up. After just one night, things had changed: Dylan had gotten more action with his girlfriend's best friend in one night than he had with his actual girl friend in almost four months, and now we both had to lie to the girl we loved the most.

And now I was scared to death for my Salley-girl because he said he 'didn't want her to cling to him 24/7.' I wasn't sure what that meant, but I prayed it didn't mean he was falling out of love. I sure as hell didn't love him, and I wanted Dylan to love Salley. But whatever happened, I swore to myself that I wouldn't let this happen again.

_**Salley's POV**_

The whole room smelled like fingernail polish, and I immediately got a slight headache. I could hear women hollering from the back, and I turned to Roxy.

"Bikini wax," she explained.

We had only two more days before school started so we decided to have a girls' day out: pedicure, call Dylan, manicure, shopping, check in on Dylan, and eating out. Roxy and I had both decided – and swore over the Holy Dove Chocolate Bar – that we wouldn't tell the parents about our little beach party adventure. It wasn't Roxy's fault someone spiked her drink a little too much, but it would be hard to explain, nonetheless. So that was one problem smoothed over, and I solved another one. Apparently Dylan was in Vegas _without _his parents. I thought they were going on the trip, but they were just going to the airport with him.

And with my now resolved problems, my _**perfect**_ summer wound to a close.

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**Penny for your thoughts? I'd love a review! or even a flame :) Tell me what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: My favourite author, Sarah Dessen, has always inspired me, but this is neither a continuation of one of her stories nor based on her work(s)._

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**_August_**

**Salley**

Chapter 6

I, personally, hated the month of August. I hated the harsh reality of a routine and classes and homework and such. In the summer it was nice to just relax, not thinking about anyone from school: the girls that most accepted as Supreme Rulers, the guys that were total jerks and Followers, and the awful teachers that seemed to plot your demise. In the summer you didn't have to worry about any of it, and you could just be yourself. But it all changes on August 7th, the First Day of School.

Roxy, however, adored August, since it was the fall. The fall symbolized the annual musical our school performs. Musicals meant auditions, and auditions meant cast lists. And hopefully, this year's list would have Roxy's name as the star of the show. This year it might happen, too! Last year we were freshmen, but Jim never cast the leads as anyone younger than a sophomore.

Jim was the teacher of our Drama elective class and the director of all our plays and musicals. Everyone called him Jim, just because. Some of the parents didn't appreciate it, but they got over it.

Roxy was always researching desirable, high-school-appropriate plays and making lists on her laptop. She emailed them to Jim all the rime. Jim and Roxy had this drama-connection thing, unlike Roxy and our music/chorus teacher, Mr. Slate. He directed all of the actual music in the musicals. Though music was Roxy's main love, it went hand-in-hand with drama.

Music to Roxy was like breathing to anyone else. If she couldn't sing or even _hear _songs, she would probably go into a coma. This means that she sings _all _the time: in the halls, at the mall, and I heard she belted out "Do Re Mi" during a Spanish test once! No one usually stopped her though because it was just like having an iPod playing 24/7; she's amazing.

This year we kind of expected her to be the leading lady of the musical.

"Oh. My. Gosh. Shut. _Up_!" Roxy said, as we rounded the corner of the M building.

"Huh?" I asked Roxy, puzzled at her outburst.

"It's _The King and I_!" she said, or more like squeaked.

I was seriously not following.

"Who's with the king?"

"The musical, I mean!" her slender, pale index finger flew to the flyer she was staring at:

_Auditions for THE KING AND I will be held in Mr. Slate's room on September 13th. To audition, please get a packet from the office. It includes your materials: a monologue, a few bars of sheet music, and a permission slip. There are many parts open! Please support the Drama Department!_

"Yes, it's absolutely wonderful. But you're going to be late for first period so stop gawking and _go_!" I told her, pushing her away from the purple bulletin.

Roxy skipped – yeah, skipped – all the way to the end of the hall and turned left, I'm sure to talk to Mr. Slate, which would earn here a late penalty on the first day!

I went straight to first period then and started to think about Dylan. I wondered if he got taller or if his hair highlighted from the bright neon signs in Vegas or! If he had first period with me! Our assembly director told honors math students to go to classroom D-8, and I arrived there soon and sat down. I immediately began to scan the room for Dylan and pleasantly found his brown head buried in our summer reading book, desperately trying to do what he failed to do on vacation.

"Dylan!"

His ears perked up, and he lifted his head from the book. His brown, tousled hair swished when he looked up to see me. Our eyes met, and he smiled.

"Hey."

"Hey, omigosh! How was Las Vegas?" I asked. His eyes flickered for a moment... or did they?

"Oh, Vegas. Yeah, it was fine. Did you and Roxy have fun at the beach?" I thought carefully before answering, debating whether I should tell Dylan about the party or if he would freak out.

"The usual: sun, surf, and Roxy in her bikinis. She, of course, made friends, and we went to their beach party; it was a total bust."

"Really?" his expression changed to something I didn't recognize.

All of a sudden, the door opened and slammed shut as our teacher walked into the room.

"I have been asked to give you schedules and lists of supplies. The bells and period divisions will be rather flexible for today, but starting Monday, anyone who is late will serve half an hour of detention. Please review the list and be ready with everything on Monday, as well. Oh, and by the way," he started, turning to the board and writing, "my name is Charles O'Neal. That is Mr. O'Neal to you."

He handed our papers down the rows, and I turned back to Dylan and gave him my schedule. He took out a blue pen from his book bag, and he skimmed our schedules for like classes and handed it back to me.

My eyes reviewed the agenda, looking for pen marks, and found three: Honors Math, Lunch, and Art. Wow, I guess it'll be harder to keep in touch with three out of nine classes together.

"Can I see your schedule?" I asked Dylan. His schedule was like this: Honors Math, Spanish II, Honors Poetry Interpretation, Study Hall, Lunch, Intro to Physics, Art, Homeroom, and American History II.

Wonder if my best friend has any of my classes…

**Roxy**

Math – Geometry, I think, - Spanish II, Honors Poetry Interpretation, Chorus, Lunch, Intro to Physics, Creative Writing, Homeroom, and American History II: sophomore year might not be so bad! There's no hard math or science to deal with, and I get to take two literature classes! And, drum roll, please… Chorus!

**Salley**

It was lunch, which meant the First Day was half way over! As usual, I was the first at our table: the rickety, old card table in the corner of the cafeteria that had a window right by it. We got some sunlight in the winter, and we could cool off in the summer if we opened it. This was our routine: I saved the three chairs with my jacket, purse, and bookbag; I left to get my lunch and came back with my tray and drink; and then Dylan and Roxy came from their classes and sat down. Once I came back, they got their lunches and sat back down, so eventually we were all together. The system was confusing, but it worked for us.

Following our tradition, I left the table and was greeted by Roxy and Dylan when I sat back down with my plate.

"So how's the first day?" Roxy asked. We hadn't seen each other all day.

"It's okay, I suppose. It would be better if we actually had some of the same classes!"

"Well, if you would stop being 'an excellent student,' you could be in the dumb science class with me and Dylan!" she said, and I wrinkled my nose.

"Let me see your schedule," she told me. After reading through it and making the appropriate affirmative noises, she handed it back to me.

"We're in two classes together," she said, trying to sound positive.

"Roxy and I have six classes together," Dylan said, and Roxy shot him a look. Probably because she knew that wouldn't make me feel any better.

"Dylan, let's get some lunch. I'm starving!" Roxy suggested, pulling him from the table.

They came back, and lunch passed by slowly. It was weird, too. Summer was so perfect and sunny and loud and bright. Now, there was an awkward silence that loomed over the table as everyone around us caught up with their friends. The First Day, so far, was not a good way to pick up where summer had left off.

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**PLEASE REVIEW AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK :)**


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: My favourite author, Sarah Dessen, has always inspired me, but this is neither a continuation of one of her stories nor based on her work(s)._

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Chapter 7 

_**Salley**_

I wrote the story over the summer, and I had totally forgotten about it. While I was cleaning out the hard drive of my laptop, I found it.

_For just those six months, she had been his world. His reason to get out of bed every morning. His valentine and his high-school sweetheart. But it was all taken away by one huge FedEx van. One van that didn't see her on a bike. One van that took her away forever._

Wow, how much more lights-camera-heartbreak could I get? But then again, a lot of my stories were like this: girl meets boy, boy loves girl, _somebody_ dies.

There's something about writing that I love. It's like every time I start daydreaming about what my life would be like if so-and-so should happen, I get an idea for a plotline. Writing is my way to escape. Writing is to me what music is to Roxy.

I love Diana Ross, but music just doesn't do it for me. But if I write, I can escape. I can be anyone.

Writing gives me a chance to be someone that stuff happens to.

Not a boring sophomore in West Creek High with a typical, picture-perfect family form North Carolina, complete with a golden retriever and white picket fencing.

The day was a teacher work day, so the students got a day off. Unfortunately, I was spending it driving Roxy and Lori to interviews. Lori had lost three jobs in the past five months, and they couldn't live off nothing. The first place we pulled up to looked like bad news. The lights didn't even look turned on, and there were only two cars in the parking lot. There was a red neon sigh that reads **FOOD**, and already I was ready to turn back.

"All right. Lori's New Job: Take One," Roxy joked, opening her car door and getting out.

"Very funny. Let's go," Lori said, getting out, too. "Salley, you coming?" She threw her handbag over her shoulder and slammed the door shut. They came around to my window.

"Uhm, sure," I said, the last one to get out. I slid the keys into my jeans pocket and headed for the door.

Roxy, upset she was spending her day off with her unemployed mother, made a beeline for the desk in the far corner. There was a lazy-eyed man sitting in one of those chairs that you sit in and spin for hours. Except, he wasn't spinning; he was smoking. And he had been for a while, by the looks of it. There was a veil of grey smoke surrounding him, even though he was just lighting up.

"Excuse me, Sir. We saw your ad in the paper, and Lori here is interested in applying for a job," Roxy informed him, waving her hand like a mad woman, trying to rid her space bubble of smoke.

"Emmph," said the man. Now that we were closer, I could see the million tattoos that covered his shoulders and arms. I could also see his lack of hair and teeth.

Lori, though a slacker but still a mother, did not like us being around this guy. He was obviously not able to hold a conversation, so she grabbed us both by the wrists and said, "Come on, girls. It's time to go."

We got in the car, and Roxy turned the radio dial to some station I never listened to. Suddenly, the car was filled with some Norwegian screamo band that I did _not _like. I wrinkled my nose and turned the song over to a Top 40 station, and the familiar voice of Michelle Branch took over the car. She giggled at my distaste for hard rock but made no move to change the station. Best friends have to choose their battles.

"Turn left!" Lori said from the backseat. I had almost forgotten where we were going. I swerved the car into another parking lot, this time in front of a supermarket.

Roxy, who was beginning to enjoy herself, got out of the car exclaiming, "Lori's New Job: Take Two."

This time I got out without question, and the three of us went in.

"Mr. Stevens, your wife is waiting for you at Customer Service at the front of the store. Mr. Stevens, your wife is waiting for you at Customer Service at the front of the store. Thank you," a very bored-sounding man said over the intercom.

Roxy pulled Lori and me by the wrist to the security guard standing at the front door.

"Do you know where I can apply for a job?" Lori asked the man.

"Yep…"

"Uhm, can you tell us, please?" Roxy asked.

"Yep…"

"Well are you gonna?" I coined in.

"Yep…"

Okay, this was ridiculous.

"Where is the freaking job application place?!" I asked. Roxy was giggling behind me, but I was ready to get in and get out.

"Go past cereal and Oriental goods, turn at feminine care, and you'll see a door on your right," he said, unaware of a reason for our irritation.

I got over my fit of anger and started to giggle along with Roxy and Lori. Some people…

Lori ended up getting the job at the Piggly Wiggly. Whether she was actually getting up for it or not, I didn't ask. There were more important things to think about.

For example, tryouts were that day for our school musical, _The King and I_.

"I don't wanna!" Roxy said, trying to wriggle free from my grip on her wrist. Dylan had her other wrist.

"You'll do fine. I'll be there with you the whole time. Since when are you nervous about singing, anyways?" he asked her.

I loved Dylan. He just slid in with me and Roxy, automatically best friends of the both of us, none of us jealous or feeling left out. And he was so nice to her, almost like a big brother. Especially this year: always picking her up into one of those hugs where the girl bends her legs behind her and grabs his neck, with him swinging her around.

Dylan couldn't do that to me. Roxy was itty bitty, barely over five-foot-three. I wasn't.

But it didn't matter. We were three pees in a pod, birds of a feather, three of a kind... you get where I'm going with this. Like those friends on TV with two girls and one guy who ends up with the sweet, shy girl instead of the slut.

Oops, I didn't say that! Back to tryouts!

"You'll do great, I know it!" I said, pushing them both into the music room door. "Call me, kay?" I called after them, the door swinging shut with a thud.

I walked away from the music room and started for the parking lot and my Lexus. Yeah, I know: Lexus in high school. Well, my parents are just some of those people that "want the best." In, like, everything!

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